


Flesh

by Kieran_Bixbie



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Choking, Hair-pulling, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Premature Ejaculation, Rough Sex, S&M, saliva as lube everybody now u know its gonna fuckin hurt, this was a whole lotta fun to write, whoa buddy lets see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kieran_Bixbie/pseuds/Kieran_Bixbie
Summary: uh ....ja'far wants to get wrecked and that's basically the story





	Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> this was fun to write and it's not as hardcore as it could have been but maybe i can write something rougher next time. speed-edited so maybe a couple of mistakes but it's fine for the most part
> 
> i wrote this while listening to "flesh" by simon curtis on repeat so yeah

“Oh, come on, _Your Highness_.”

He isn't serious when he says that. Sitting in Sinbad's room, sitting on his king's large bed, in loose-fitting clothing while he leans back and uses his palms to hold himself up, he's not serious. There's a taunting tone in his voice and a smile written everywhere except on his lips (that's about ready to crack, actually, but he's feeling like making his king get just a little bit aggressive).

The king's already shrugged off his clothes, now sitting on the mattress as well in only his undergarments with his foot tucked under himself. The jewelry's off and his hair is down, and Ja'far really can't help admiring him now. All the jewelry, despite the importance of it all, can seem a little bit superficial at times; admittedly, though, Sinbad himself could be plenty superficial at times.

Speaking of—he'd tried to get himself laid _at least_ once earlier that day. ('At least' because, really, Ja'far doesn't have the time or patience to babysit twenty-four/seven, so he wasn't sure. All he was sure of was that it made him jealous.)

That's why he wants this—he _needs_ this.

“What is it, Ja'far?”

“I can't believe you're out flirting with girls when you're already with me.” It's starting to get a little warm and he's starting to get a little anxious. He's done this more than once before and his advances were never rejected. “Isn't it obvious that _I'd_ be much better? I already am, aren't I?”

There's a bit of hesitation, but there's no doubt that comment did _something_. “You are. You already know you are—you don't even need to ask.”

He reaches over to touch his advisor, who grabs his wrist and twists just a little; it's a warning more than anything else, letting Sinbad know not to go any further or he'd get more than a warning. Ja'far knows he could break his king's wrist; right now, as things are at this exact moment in time, he could do that if he really wanted to, because Sinbad would let him. But he doesn't want to—he just wants to make it clear the the other that touching isn't allowed right now.

“After today, I thought maybe you wouldn't want to touch me anymore.” He twists a little harder and he hears a small pop. “Or maybe you think you can have _everyone_. Make a decision right now.”

“Ja'far—”

Ja'far's voice drops low, almost threateningly so, and he twists further. Sinbad shows no signs of pain, but his advisor knows it hurts at least a little bit. “It's my way or not at all. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” The word comes out quickly and in a slightly higher pitch than normal. With more dignity, he adds, “Anything for you. Your way it is.”

“So it's only me? Good; I'm glad we're on the same page.” There's a hint of a smile on his lips now and he lets go of his king's wrist. “Now prove it.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” He always finds himself getting aggressive at times like these, and he's not sure why, but he's got a theory that it's an subconscious way of trying to incite some level of aggression in Sinbad as well. Right now, he was possessive, dominant, unforgiving. That's what he wants, and maybe his emotions getting a little stirred up is a good way to get that. “I want you to prove it. Go on; you've done it before. You haven't lost a nerve, have you, Sin?”

That's enough. Ja'far's eyes widen as he's thrown down on the bed, head hitting right below the pillows and his legs being moved up onto the mattress. He's stunned, only for a second or two, but before he can recover, he finds Sinbad's hands pinning his shoulders down.

“And you're sure you want this?” Sinbad asks, and it's irritating, because isn't it really fucking obvious that he does?

Ja'far's eyes narrow and he stares up at his king for a couple of moments. “I was right; you've lost your nerve.”

And suddenly there's a pair of hands on his throat, and the grip tightening isn't a gradual occurrence. He can't breathe, barely able to make a choked sound that may or may not convey his surprise. In case Sinbad is thinking of letting go, he grabs the larger man's wrists to hold them in place. It feels good, especially since he can't even remember the last time he had his air supply cut off like this.

He's fully hard by the time the pressure stops blocking off his air supply, and he can't help squirming a little. He needs something more than that, and lying in bed beneath Sinbad without actually _getting_ anything isn't sitting well with him. He rocks his hips, trying to make it clear that he really just wants to be touched, but it doesn't get him anything.

“Sin—”

“You're not impatient _already_ , are you?”

_That's fair,_ Ja'far thinks, sucking in a deep breath and forcing himself to keep still. He's not used to this, not used to anticipating rough treatment, because it's been a while. He doesn't want to wait, but he's going to have to.

He gives a cocky smile from his place beneath his king, but he's barely able to maintain it. “It's been a while. I'm just glad to see you're going to be like this again. But...” He tilts his head a little, feigning a thoughtful and confused expression. “...why are we doing this again?”

“Because I don't think I have a choice.” Sinbad gives a low chuckle that lets his advisor know that there's no force or genuine coercion in that matter; he's only doing this because he wants to.

Ja'far's eyes narrow a little and now he's glaring up at the man above him. His hands are back around the king's wrists, squeezing, threatening to do actual harm. “I asked a question. What are you proving to me?”

It's not hard to tell that Sinbad is intimidated, even just a little bit. Ja'far always has just as much power as he wants to, and even when he's decided to relinquish all control to his king, a single word can change that without any resistance. “You're better than anyone else.”

“What am I, Sin?”

“What?”

“ _What am I?_ ”

There's hesitation, like Sinbad doesn't know what to say, but that doesn't last long. “You're mine.”

Ja'far can't help the rush of air being pushed out of his lungs as his cock twitches. He loves hearing that so much, loves the possessive tone it carries. “Again.”

“You're mine.” He kisses his advisor, heatedly and not at all gently, and Ja'far uses his elbows to prop himself up to make it easier. He pulls back and moves his mouth down to his advisor's neck. “You're mine and no one else is allowed to touch you.”

Ja'far would swear up and down than he could cum just from that alone, but that would be an embarrassing thing to admit to. Instead, he says nothing, not doing much more than letting out a soft moan arching his back a little. His support is going to give out sooner rather than later, so he lets his head fall back onto the mattress.

There are hands going up his shirt now, and a shuddering breath leaves his lungs in a quick rush. He has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep quiet as Sinbad's thumbs run over his nipples. He doesn't want to seem desperate because he really _shouldn't_ be, but anticipation is leaving him breathless and overly sensitive and (he doesn't like how quick he was to admit it, even to himself) needy. He wants to get off maybe two or three times, because he's thinking he won't be satisfied if he doesn't finish at least twice.

“Look at you.” Sinbad is giving him a look that's a borderline smirk, but there's nothing harsh or condescending about his tone of voice. He's just messing around, and what else could be expected of him in a situation like this one? “I know you, Ja'far. This is really getting to you.”

“Shut up.” The words are hot and quick, defensive in a way that fills him with immediate regret, because that sounded pretty suspicious for someone who supposedly _wasn't_ getting very needy. “You're going to have to try harder.”

Sinbad doesn't miss a single beat; he pinches his advisor's nipples _hard_ , and when that's not enough to pull anything more than a quiet moan out of Ja'far, he leans down and whispers, low and sultry, “You're so good, and I can't believe you belong to me.”

At that moment, he curses his kings abilities; a desperate noise leaves his throat and he can't keep himself in check. He doesn't even realize what he's doing before he finds himself whimpering and squirming, one of his hands having found its way to his cock and palming himself to completion through the fabric of his pajama pants and his underwear.

He bites down on his lip as he finishes, soaking his underwear uncomfortably and leaving his ears ringing lightly. Through the haze his mind is in, it takes a moment or three. He lays back, staring up at the ceiling with his dark eyes glazed over, and there's a part of himself that says it's not a big deal, but it hardly takes any time at all for his face to start burning. He turns his head to the side as an excuse not to look up at Sinbad, but his king forces him to look back up.

“Looks like someone's desperate tonight. Finished?”

He can't even deny the accusation, so he calls it quits and drops the matter without letting his embarrassment or his very mild irritation escalate any further. He shoves Sinbad off of himself and sits up, pushing his pants and underwear off and leaving them to fall to the floor.

He knows that, realistically, he doesn't need to sound taunting or teasing to get what he wants, but he's inclined to. “I don't think you've made it clear that I belong to you. I want you to _fuck_ me. _Wreck_ me—or can't you do that?”

“I _can_. Are you testing me?”

“Am I _testing_ you?” Ja'far repeats. He doesn't mean to, but he laughs, and it sounds just a touch condescending. He really does think it's funny. “If you think I am, how much further to I have to push?”

“I could seriously hurt you, if that's what you're aiming for.”

He's getting impatient and his eye twitches just slightly from frustration. “What I'm aiming for is to have you to fuck me up. I'll ask again— _can't you do that?_ ”

“I _can_. Just let me get the aloe.”

Sinbad's reaching for the nightstand drawer now, and Ja'far pushes his hand away. The advisor drops to his knees in front of the larger man and pulls his underwear off. He starts off using his hand to give a few strokes, looking up at his king.

“If I wanted painless, I would have said so. I want it to hurt and I don't want you to hold anything back.”

“But—”

Ja'far gives a hint of a glare as he quotes himself from not too much earlier. “It's my way or not at all. Do I make myself clear?”

There's no time for Sinbad to respond, because his advisor takes him in all the way to the back of his throat. He can't fit his king's cock entirely into his mouth, but he tries his hardest. What he can't reach, he strokes with the hand that isn't busy keeping him steady, and there's the thought in his mind (one which he ignores) that the part that isn't even lubricated with saliva will hurt like fuck going in.

Sinbad suddenly had a handful of his hair and he winces. Ja'far doesn't know what he was expecting, really, but he wasn't complaining. His king's fingers curl in his hair, pulling painfully, and Ja'far lets out a moan. It hurts, and that feels _so_ good, and he can feel pleasure twisting in the pit of his stomach.

He's forced down and he gags, trying to swallow and adjust to having Sinbad's cock being shoved down his throat. Tears start pricking in his eyes and he tries so hard not to push back; he tries so hard to adjust and keep himself from pushing, but he can't help it when he forces himself back forcefully.

“I think that's enough.” Ja'far tries to play it off like it hadn't been too much to handle. He's aware that Sinbad knows that's not the case, but his king says nothing.

He makes a move to get back on the bed, but before he can, Sin has his hand tangled in the white mess. Ja'far goes tense for a minute, knowing how much pain to expect, and he gets pulled up by his hair and roughly thrown back on the mattress. This is exactly what he wants, and he lets out a choked sound that's some mix of pain and pleasure (but at this point, they're one and the same).

Sinbad has a very good idea of what Ja'far wants, and Ja'far decides this as soon as his king thrusts into him all at once without warning. He lets out what sounds like a borderline scream and brings his wrist up to try to stifle himself. It's no good and he knows it, but he still tries.

“I don't recall giving you permission to try to be quiet.”

That tone of voice makes his cock twitch, and his back arches up off the bed. He needs some self-control right about now, but it's been _so long_ since he was treated like this. He's in so much pain and it's making his head spin, and he's not sure he can tell what's what anymore. All he knows is that it hurts and he loves it and he can't help bucking his hips with a sense of urgency. He's been hard again for a good amount of time by now considering that he finished less than ten minutes before, but he's sure he's not going to last a whole lot longer.

His head goes back and it takes an effort not to stifle the cry that passes his lips. One of his hands instinctively moves down to try to get himself off quicker, but what comes of it is his wrists being pinned above his head.

Ja'far's leaking quite a bit by now, shaft wet with the pre-cum dripping from his cock. He can't think straight while he's being pounded mercilessly into the mattress. _Fuck_ , it hurts, it hurts, _it fucking hurts_ , but the advisor can't get enough.

Before he even realizes it, the burning agony from being fucked so roughly starts making tears form in his eyes. He chokes hard on a quick, shallow gasp of air, the pain being so overwhelming that he's going to be full-on crying if Sinbad doesn't ease up—and _oh_ , fuck him, he does _not_ want his king to ease up in the slightest. He wants him to keep going, in and out with quick, aggressive, terrible thrusts. It burns and it hurts and it's making his eyes watery, and he _loves_ it.

Ja'far doesn't know when his wrists are released, but now there are hands around his throat, gradually constricting until his air supply is cut off just like it had been earlier, and if this keeps up, he's really not going to last.

When he's right on the edge of passing out, it registers that his king doesn't plan on stopping, so he has to weakly grab at Sinbad's wrists and push in order to make him let up. His hands go elsewhere instead, one grabbing his forearm and pinning it down hard enough to ensure a bruise, and and the other went to his advisor's cock to pump it just as quickly as he was fucking the smaller man.

Ja'far can't help how he's bucking his hips. It hurts so good and he's so close again and—

“Not yet,” Sinbad manages. He's short on breath, but he's not loud and he's pretty good at swallowing back his moans. (Ja'far knows better; he fucking _knows_ how loud his king can be, but this is just one good way of taunting the man beneath him.) His hand tightens around the base of his advisor's cock, not allowing him to cum just yet; this wrenches another sob from his throat.

“ _Please_ ,” Ja'far whines, desperate and trying not to start choking on his air again. “Please, Sin, I—”

He's not in his right mind in the slightest, and that's why it doesn't even register to start yelling when Sinbad smirks down at him. He looks so cocky and it frustrated Ja'far to no end, even when he's looking up with glassy, tearful eyes.

The advisor would have been pushed over the edge so easily when Sinbad finishes inside him, but instead, he's left unable to do anything but try very hard to manage getting off as well; that doesn't happen.

“Sin— _Sinbad!_ ” he yelps, and _shit_ , he hopes he's not crying as much as he thinks he is. “Please, please, _please_ , I need to— _aah!_ ”

He's not able to finish the thought (did he even know where it was going?) once his king finally lets go, and cum spatters over his stomach.

Sinbad pulls out and he's still smirking. He's always so full of himself and Ja'far wants to punch him.

It's a little hard to focus on that while he's still crying, and he brings one of his arms up to cover his eyes. Now all he's left with is the pain, which—he can't even begin to deny it—is part of what he wanted anyway. The real question was how he was supposed to get any work done in the morning, or how he was going to get out of bed at all.

“How was that?”

Ja'far is hit with a wave of embarrassment and he rolls onto his stomach. After a couple moments pass, he mumbles, “Maybe you should get like that more often.”

 


End file.
